Her Father's Daughter
by Syncopated Heartbeat
Summary: Before and during WWRY...inside la belle Scaramouche's head, sort of thing. Mmff I'm bad at summaries...
1. Going Slightly Mad

Ello luv's

It's my first We Will Rock You fic, and I'm not sure how I feel about it yet.lol Just so you all know though, I do not own We Will Rock You (only wish I did), or any of the music in here...or any references to any artists. I don't own anything...not even my laptop; it's my dad's.

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"Up now, up now! Girl, you've got to get up now!" overly cheery voices shouted, followed by a techno Gaga Girl beat. I groaned at the sound emanating from my alarm clock. Before I even had the time to reach over and turn it off, the chant started again. 

"If you don't shut up right now, I'll 'up now' you!" I grumbled, sitting up in my bed. Then, before the irritating wake-up call could start a third time, I slammed the off button on the clock. I shook my head, looking at it. The pink and turquoise thing – which I personally thought was very tacky - looked so out of place on my dresser, next to my eBooks about occult, my stacks of slightly-sinister sketches, and my other oddities. My father had bought it for me last Global-Day. When I'd opened it, I sighed, rolling my eyes, and muttered, "Thanks a lot, Dad." After I'd left the room, I overheard my dad telling my mom he'd chosen it in an attempt to pique my curiosity as to what "normal teenage girls" were interested in. When she said that he didn't have to worry, that I was just going through a phase (whatever you say, Mam), he roared that she could keep burying her head in the proverbial sand, but that he was going to do something about me. He was one of the Globalsoft representatives in our area, and there was no way any daughter of his would be such a "Goddamn freak". Yes, those were his exact words. He was so upset that he used the G-word, the word scarcely heard since religion was outlawed in 2268.

Before you start thinking that his words must have crushed my soul or something sappy like that, let me just inform you that they didn't. I'm used to that kind of thing. At school, being called a loner, weirdo and disgrace to society, all in one morning, is to be expected. So the novelty of being called a freak had worn off eons earlier.

"Gotta get ready for school," I sighed as I headed towards my computer, "What to download, what to download…" As usual, I chose a dark, shapeless dress, one of the few dresses available that went past my knees. Of course, I'd be made fun of for it, but what else was new?

"What do you want for breakfast, dear? We're waiting for you to download it!" my mother called out.

"Anything's fine…you know I don't really care," I answered, tying my hair up into a messy ponytail. When would she understand that she could order whatever she wanted for me? She just always had to ask though, didn't she?

I walked down the stairs to the dining room to find my parents sitting at the table, eating scrambled eggs, with a plate of them ready for me. My father looked me over and frowned.

"What did I tell you, Lauren? She's wearing another one of those sacks."

"Don't start…"

"No Mam, let him say what he wants," I sat down at my place, cool as you please, "Go for it, Dad. Don't hold back, just let it all out."

"How do you ever expect to find any friends, any decent girls to hang out with you if you wear trash like that?" he asked.

"Father, dear, the only decent girls out there are ones who wear this 'trash'."

"Well, what about boys then? You'll never find any young man in his right mind who will be seen with you looking like that."

"I don't care."

"Oh yes, I forgot," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "_You_ don't have to worry about boys, you lucky girl. You are, after all, a dyke."

"And you're an ass," I replied.

"What did you just say?" he narrowed his eyes.

"What, you didn't hear me?" I cocked my head, "Dad, you're an ass."

He didn't say a word, but his eyes told me he was furious. Before I could feel his wrath, I pushed my chair back and announced, "Well, this has been lovely, but I have to go."

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.

"I'm going to school. Today's graduation, but you shouldn't bother coming. It would be too embarrassing to be seen with me," I flashed him a fake smile, "Bye now."

As I walked away, I heard my mother say quietly, "You shouldn't have said that."

"She was asking for it," my father responded, "And she better not think she's going to get away with calling me an ass. What kind of way is that to talk to your father?"

"She's just angry. You hurt her feelings, that's all."

"She's not 'just angry'; she's a disgrace. I told you we should have sent her to boarding school. She might have turned out a bit better…"

"You don't mean that…she's your daughter…"

"No, with that attitude she has, she's _your_ daughter, because I don't have one anymore."

"If that's how he wants it, fine by me," I said quietly. With that, I opened our front door and left, slamming it behind me. Things could not go on like this. I hated him. I couldn't stand being around him. I was going to go crazy if things didn't change! I didn't know how, but today, after graduation, I would not – could not – go home to him. Someway, somehow, I'd find a way to get away from this world of Teen Queens and Boy Toys…a way to break free.


	2. Got to Break Free

"Here's to the class of 2307!" everyone around me cheered, tossing their traditional white caps into the air. It was pretty funny to look at, all of them wearing itty-bitty tops and skirts, or short-shorts, throwing white caps up into the air. I snorted upon seeing one of the caps fall squarely onto head. When he started to pout about it, the Queen of Flakes, chirped that everything would be okay, James and then kissed his forehead to "make the booboo better".

"Gag me." I wrinkled my nose.

Graduating should have made me happy. Virtual High was like an old-fashioned prison, before the whole concept of brain-sucking became so popular, that is. Before the Seven Seas of Rhye, people were incarcerated, in itty-bitty, 5' by 8' cells without access to any technology whatsoever. Imagine. Our school – minus the no technology rule - was just like that, with the teachers as the taunting guards, and the other students as pouty fellow in-mates. Keeping with the prison metaphor, if they were in the slammer for nonsense, like illegally downloading a candy bar, I was a hardcore criminal sentenced to solitary confinement. Graduation meant that my sentence was over. I would never have to put up with the catty in-mates or the domineering guards again. I might never have to see these people again at all! I should have been jumping for joy…but I wasn't.

The moment that I imported my diploma onto my laptop should have been one of the most triumphant of my life thus far. Instead, all I felt was anxiety, frustration, and – though I hated to admit it – fear. What was I going to do now? Where did I go from here? Going home wasn't an option anymore. My father would be furious and I did not want to witness the aftermath of our fight that morning. I'd had enough of him He was petty, rude and insensitive to the world around him. When I'd called him an asshole, you can bet your bottom eDollar that I'd meant it…and he was a stubborn one too!

"Stubborn as a mule, he is," Mam used to say when I was little. Then, as she brushed a strand of hair away from my face, she'd add, "Just like you."

When I was younger, I'd smile at that proudly; the thought that I was like him made me proud. My father seemed to me to be an amazing man: strong, handsome, smart, and confident. If I could be just a bit like him, then I was lucky. Then, as I got older, I started realizing that he wasn't as perfect as I'd once believed. I noticed how he yelled at my mother when she didn't do what he wanted, how he yelled at me, how everything always had to be by the book, the way _he_ liked it. I grew to hate it, and him. When my mother told me I was stubborn, just like him, I would wrinkle my nose and shake my head. Funny thing was, so would my father.

"No, not like me," he'd announce. "Just like her mother." The look he'd give my mother then was chilling. His eyes would be on fire, and if looks could kill, she'd have been dead. That was the exact look he'd given me at breakfast. There was no way I could go back home after that look. As much as I hated our sorry excuse for a society, I didn't exactly feel like dying quite yet, thanks. But…where would I go then?

I heard one of our teachers cry out, disrupting my thoughts, "But you live in a perfect world! What more could you want?"

A stuttering voice answered, "I…I want to break free!"

Just then, something very unusual happened. That scared voice suddenly started to sing. When it did, it became strong, clear and confident…the kind of voice that sends shivers up your spine. Okay, maybe not…but it sent them up mine, anyway. "I want to break free. I want to break free. I want to break free from your lies you're so self-satisfied, I don't need you. I've got to break free. God knows, God knows I've got to break free."

"My thoughts exactly," I whispered, my heart thumping in my chest. I turned around to see who the voice belonged to.

"That kid with the rubber bands?" I wrinkled my brow. I found it pretty hard to believe that the anxious, wimpy guy who did weird things, like twang elastic bands around boxes was the one singing like that. There he was though, singing his weird little heart out…and not just singing either, but dancing too! Granted, he looked slightly demented…but hey, so did everyone else these days. At least this guy looked…passionate. No, that wasn't the right word for him. He looked alive! It made _me_ feel alive just watching him! I almost felt like joining in with him. This bizarre dancer boy was almost magical. Bizarre and magical. Never thought those two words would go together…

There was something strange though, a peculiar quality about his song that made me feel giddy. I'd never quite felt this way before. I smiled and twirled around a little. I actually giggled (Me? Giggling? Wow.) at how silly I must have looked. To my surprise, I even started to hum a little.

I was so caught up in my own little tune that I didn't even realize that the boy had disappeared, along with the teacher he'd been talking to.

"Weird," I scrunched up my nose.

Having not got my fill of the music, I looked around to see if anyone else was around. Nope, nobody was watching. The coast was clear. I smiled to myself and started to sing, just like rubber-band boy, "Oh, how I want to break free!"

For some reason, I was expecting applause when I finished my little solo (I know, weird), but I got something quite different instead: the squealing and giggling of a group of Gaga Girls. Wouldn't you know it? They just so happened to be the Teen Queens, also known as the peppiest, perkiest, and pinkest of the Gaga's.

"Look, it's the loser!" one of them, who happened to be particularly pink, crowed. In response, the other girls cackled in unison.

"Jaysus, sounds like I've been joined by the Barn Yard Gang," I rolled my eyes, and prepared for what was sure to be a lovely confrontation, "Just my luck."


	3. Somebody to Love

Hey you all

Well, first off, thank you for all the reviews. I really appreciate them. Secondly though, I'm going on holidays from Monday until August 3rd, so don't expect anything til a few days after then...although I may write while I'm there...you know lounging on the beach. lol Before then though, I want to finish at least one more Kiss, and start a chapter of this. Til next time, reviews would be lovely...and remember, as much as I love WWRY, I don't own any of it. Pity, really...

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"Can't your mother download you something decent to wear?" one of the Gaga Girls around me asked, crossing her arms.

"I make my own fashion statements," I retorted, indignantly.

They proceeded to spout nonsense in haughty tones, with excessive use of eye-rolling and hip-jutting. They were just babbling on about how I was a "disgrace to the Gaga girls", and how I was a loser. As if I cared! I'd rather shave my head and go around stark naked than dress like one of them…which I proceeded to tell them.

"You are such a sad loser," one Gaga shook her head solemnly.

"Well you sure are right about that," I rolled my eyes, and then, for good measure, added, "Bitch."

The gaggle of idiots gasped, twittering in shock over my audacity.

Then, out of nowhere, I felt this strange feeling in my throat. It was like something was brewing within me, and it was dying to come out.

"Can anybody find me somebody to love?" I sang out loud and clear, just like rubber band boy. Is _that_ what wanted to get out so badly? Wow…bizarre…oh Jaysus, that feeling again.

_Stay! Down!_ I thought, with no idea who or what the order was aimed at. Maybe it was the words I'd been singing, or maybe it was my voice…either way, I hoped I would not sing again. I'd never hear the end of it from the Gagas if I didn't stop. Well, maybe a little part of me was happy about the whole singing thing. For the most part though, I wished that for once in my existence, I would shut up.

"Each morning I wake up I die a little, can barely stand on my feet," I sang.

The Gaga Girls laughed hysterically at my song, clutching their sides in a most un-ladylike manner. They were to overcome with laughter to care though.

"Somebody to love you?"

"Yeah, right…"

"Stop day-dreaming and get a virtual life!"

I bristled; their words had struck a chord. As much as I hated to admit it, they were right. None of their Boy Zone companions would ever be interested in someone like me, and those were really the only boys out there…except…well, there was that guy from before. He was different from them. No way would I ever go for him though. He was a little bit _too_ different, the psychiatric ward kind of different.

"I work hard, every day of my life; I work 'til I ache in my bones. At the end," I sighed, "I take home my broken heart all on my own."

I was growing more and more desperate, and it was starting to show in my voice. I felt so frustrated as I sang, as loudly as I could, the sound coming from a place deep inside me that I didn't even know existed, "I've just got to get out of this prison cell! Some day I'm going to break free, Lord!"

The Gagas circled me, chanting, over and over again, "Find me somebody to love."

I wasn't sure whether they were making fun of me, feeling sorry for me, or maybe just getting caught up in the moment. It didn't matter to me though, because all I wanted to do was sing. It felt so…amazing to let out all this energy like this, "Can anybody find me somebody to love? Somebody, somebody to love!"

I didn't know how but I'd somehow ended up on my knees, my arms extended at my sides, and staring up at the sky, almost as though I were searching for some kind of higher presence or something weird like that. I sighed, feeling bizarrely serene. Strange, eh? I felt serene as I looked like a constipated animal. Oh, it was going to be a good long while before those Gaga girls let me forget about this…

"How very touching, young lady. But surely you understand that the company loves you. Arrest her," I heard a man's voice say from behind me.

"Oh holy Jaysus," I muttered when I turned around and found saw the tall man with disturbingly white hair who I was sure I recognized from somewhere, surrounded by what had to be Gloablsoft minions.

Minutes later, I found myself in a small dark room, strapped to an impossibly small chair, facing the white-haired man. It was just like an old movie; there was even a spotlight shining down on my face. I glared at the man, unable to say anything, because –of course- I had a gag (a sock really) tied across my mouth.

"Remove the gag," he commanded, over-dramatically I might add.

As soon as the disgusting sock was 'removed', I cocked my head at him, "Don't you think the spotlight is a bit much?"

"If I were you, Miss Sally, I would take that smirk off my face," he answered.

"If I were you, I would unchain me from this chair," I retorted.

"Oh really?" he leaned in close to me, smiling, "Now why would that be?"

I hated my father, but sometimes, he came in handy, "Don't you know who my father is? I assume you did your research before arresting me, so you must know. I don't think he would be happy if he found out his one and only daughter was being detained in this dingy old hole."

"On the contrary, I think he would, in fact, be very happy," he paused, possibly for what he thought must have been dramatic purposes, "After all, he _is_ the one who requested the arrest."

I had to admit, he'd caught me off-guard. I wasn't expecting him to say that. I knew my father was cold-hearted enough for it, but still…his reputation. That was what mattered most to him life: his position, his ranking. I'd worked out that it was a thing with men, a sort of correlation between their constant striving for power and recognition and their genitalia. As one went up, the other went way down.

"Prove it," I arched an eyebrow, saying the only thing I could think of.

He laughed at me, a deep chuckle, then looked at me seriously, "Young lady, you would have been a fine addition to Globalsoft…it's a shame you had to turn out this way…"

"What way?" I frowned.

"What way do you think?" he frowned right back at me.

"A pseudo-lesbian loner with an attitude, maybe?" I suggested.

"You really don't know then," he laughed again, "If that's the case then maybe it's not too late..."

"Not too late for what?" I asked, feeling very, oh I don't know, irritated! What was it with this guy and this stupid trailing off thing? Okay, I got the point; he liked that feeling like he was being all dramatic and tense.

"Miss Sally, would you ever consider joining us?" he asked, a grin pulling at his lips, "Batting for the other team. Becoming a part of the company. It would be everything you know you've always wanted, but have been too proud to admit."

"How do you know what I want?"

"Oh, darling, you're only consuman. Everybody wants to fit in, to be a part of something."

"Well I don't," I huffed, half-lying, "Besides, what would the almighty Killer Queen want me for?"

"You would be a lovely asset to her," he began, a sly look on his face.

"Give me a break," I blew my bangs out of my eyes.

"It's true," he said, leaning in close again, "Such a clever girl, spunky and resourceful too…not to mention so cold you're nearly sterile. The company, as you so kindly pointed out, does their research, and according to our results, you have all the necessary qualifications." He gently stroked my cheek with his hand, smiling. Disgusting. I decided to play along with him though.

"That could prove to be…interesting," I smiled coyly, "Tell me more."

"You would be very useful to us. You know how the mind of a rebel works. You could help us track them down, which would lead to great rewards on your part."

"What kind of rewards?"

"Oh, all kinds," he leaned in so close I could make out every little hair in his goatee.

"Just for me?" I smiled sweetly, even batting my eyes.

"If you wanted, although you could share some with your…co-workers?" he grinned.

"That sounds ever so," I began softly, but then switched back to my usual way of talking, "Replusive!" I spat in his face.

"As if I'd ever work for you," I glared at him.

"Take her away," he roared.

As the workers entered the room, he asked, "Any last questions? It's your last chance to ask any while you're still...yourself."

"Only one: what was the excuse my father gave for my arrest?"

He grinned, "Excuse? Excuses, you mean. Your attitude, your demeanor, your inability to be a part of the Globalsoft community, the way you dress…"

"The way I dress?" I looked at him incredulously. I knew my father was stupid, but I didn't think he was so far-gone down Idiot Lane that he would give my clothes as a reason to arrest me.

"Yes, the way you dress," he nodded, "Now that's one more question than you said you would ask. Take her away."


	4. Under Pressure

Wowwww...it's been a while since I up-dated this! lmfao

Well thank you very very much to all the lovely reviews and happy holidays, everyone. Hope they're safe & joyous & lovely!

BTW, I still don't own WWRY...anyone wanna give it to me as a late Christmas present?

xxxx 3

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I squeezed my eyes shut while the Globalsoft minions rolled me on what could only be a gurney. Whatever anesthetic they'd knocked me out with had worn off a while earlier, as they were finishing wrapping some thick bandages around my head. My eyes had flickered open for just a few seconds, just long enough to understand where I was: in a hospital room. Judging from the white masks and lab coats, and the instruments lying on the cart near me, which were all too sharp for my liking, thank you very much, it was an operating room. I wanted to know what they were doing, but for my own good, I thought it would be better to pretend I'd never woken up. Those sharp little buggers looked like they could do a fair amount of damage. So when the creaky gurney wheels were silenced and I heard the footsteps of people getting further and further from me, I took it to mean they'd rolled me to my final destination. I waited a few seconds. Silence. I figured it was safe to examine my surroundings. 

Now, I'd never thought I was a particularly lucky girl. Actually, I'd always thought of myself as particularly _unlucky_. I just never thought that this luck was bad enough to land me in a dark, humid, and, therefore, smelly, room, lying on a gurney, face-to-face with the greatest of all the idiots I'd ever encountered.

Rubber Band Boy. In the flesh.

I learnt, from trying to converse with him, that though he didn't know who he was, he liked to go by the name "Galileo Figaro". I thought he was joking when he told me. He had to be. _Nobody_ could possibly want to be called that. It was the weirdest name I'd ever heard of, including the names of the couple my parents liked to play Virtual Bridge with: Anselmo and Gigliola. Upon further questioning though, I found that, to my dismay, he was serious about his love for his name. Dead serious.

I also learnt that he's crazy and that he'll happily admit it. I asked him why he was arrested, and this was his answer, a direct quote from the man: "I hear sounds in my head. Words and sounds. I'm mad, you see." However, he doesn't know what the sounds he hears are, precisely.

I rolled my eyes when he said that, "Do you know anything?"

"Yes, I - I know I'm different!" he replied proudly, looking at me expectantly. I wasn't entirely sure what he wanted from me when he said that… applause maybe? Much to his disappointment, all I did was give him an unaffected stare, tacitly telling him to go on, to say something that might just impress me, because evidently being "different" wouldn't cut it. He cleared his throat after a second and added, "That's why the boys in the Boy-Zone hate me."

Point for Figgy, as I'd christened him; I could not bring myself to call him Galileo Figaro. Jaysus Christ, no. Anyhow, he'd struck a chord with that last comment, and I admitted, "The Gaga Girls hate me."

Apparently, he was a curious one, wanting to know why they hated me. I explained to him simply with my standard answer, the one that usually shut people up, which was what I was hoping would happen. "They think I'm a lesbian because I don't wear pastels."

Of course, I should have anticipated that he wouldn't have the usual response. He was after all "different". He didn't shut up. Instead, he looked at me with those huge eyes of his in a way that sent shivers up my spine, "No, they hate you because they're scared of you. Because you're different too - you're an individual." I stared right back him for just a second before looking away. No way was I going to get all emotional with a whackjob.

"What do you think they did to us?" I asked, changing the subject.

"I don't know."

"Of course," I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue. I opted for something less likely to insult him, "Do you think they'll ever give up? And just leave us alone?"

He shook his head furiously, leaning as close to me as he could to explain, "Don't you see? We're a threat! A virus on their hard drive. And they won't give up until they've pointed their little arrow at us…"

"And dragged us to trash," I finished his sentence.

His excitement was contagious, spreading to me quickly, and taking me over even faster. My heart was thumping, my cheeks were flushing and my eyes locked onto his once more. I took a deep breath at the same time he did, and, instinctively, I knew what he was thinking. We both cried out, "Pressure! Pushing down on me, pressing down on you, no man asks for, under pressure!"

He kept singing, that same kind of infectious passion engulfing him like the first time I saw him. And then, he urged me on, to join him.

"It puts people on streets," I sang back to him, enjoying myself, but not quite allowing myself to get as into it as he was. I hummed a little, "Umbababay, umbababay…"

"De-day-oh, eh-day-oh," he grinned at me widely, leaning even further forward.

"That's…that's okay…" I inched away from him, just a tad freaked out.

He took the hint though, and moved away. He kept singing though, kept freaking me out…but just a little…and only at first. Soon though, I found myself joining him in a duet. His voice got to me, the beautiful sound, the beautiful words….dammit! Even he seemed beautiful right then.

"These are the days it never rains but it pours…"

"Pray tomorrow gets me higher…"

"Keep coming up with love, but it's all slashed and torn…"

"Why?" I cried, "Why?"

"Insanity laughs, under pressure we're cracking!"

"Why can't we give ourselves one more chance?" I asked desperately.

"Why can't we give _love_ that one more chance?" he corrected.

"Why can't we give love?" I mused.

"Cause love's such an old-fashioned world," he began.

I smiled sadly as we started walking towards each other, "And love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night, and loves dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves…this is our last chance…this is our last dance…"

"This is ourselves," he murmured when we were so close together that I could feel his warm breath on my face. He locked his arms around my waist, and though I would have at any other time, I didn't object. I actually found myself sort of liking this closeness…

"Under pressure," I whispered to him.

"Under pressure," I repeated, this time together with him. Something happened right then, when I looked at him once more. It felt like his eyes were on fire, blazing with emotion. What's more was I knew that the look in mine matched his perfectly. He bent his head, the tip of his nose brushing against mine, and I closed my eyes, but then, at the last minute…

I pulled away.

He sighed, "Under pressure…"

"So," I stepped away from him, still blushing, "Where do we go now?"

"Well," he swallowed, then, "Out into the night! Out into the streets! We're rebels now! 'Cause baby, we were born to run!" With that last remark, he struck a pose, and the beautiful soul who'd almost kissed me was gone. Rubber Band Boy was back, and ready for action.

"Don't call me baby," I said curtly, crossing my arms.

"I'm sorry," he blushed too now, "It was just…a phrase…I heard it in my head…"

"Yeah?" I snapped, "Well keep it there!"


End file.
